


No Mood For Trouble

by Mizzy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 03, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-11
Updated: 2011-03-11
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:14:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizzy/pseuds/Mizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written with Season 3 canon.  When Ben Braeden’s mom goes into hospital, Ben goes to search out Dean – little knowing Dean’s in hell, and Sam’s hardly in the right condition to look after him… (Wincest)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One / Interlude One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bittersweet_art](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittersweet_art/gifts).



> Rendered a little useless with Season 4, and especially with the most recent episodes, I suppose you could say this was written to work as an AU after Season 3. Written as a request for bittersweet_art.

**Part One**   
**  
**-Ben-**   
**

  
People had always told Ben Braeden that puberty would be the worst trouble one person could ever go through. It had never seemed right to him, because surely there were  _worse_  things, right? Like that ache in the pit of your stomach when he saw the other kids wandering off, hands held tight by their fathers, skipping off into some wonderful ice cream and baseball laden adventure, while he lounged by the gate, waiting for his mom, late  _again_  after her menopausal female students cried on her shoulder after another lame pilates session. That feeling _sucked_.

He was getting used to being ignored in favor of his mom’s job. She wasn’t really a yoga teacher. That hadn’t taken him long to figure out. She was a counsellor, or a therapist. It was her job to make people bend into weird places with their bodies, and then she would have to spend ages talking their bent heads into regular shape.

His mom would come pick him up at the school, tired and cranky, smiling a tired smile at him, make him some dinner once they got home, and brag about how  _easy_  it was being a kid. Ben didn’t reckon it was that easy at all. Especially when it was Tom’s birthday, Tom Shetland from down the street, Tom who had been through that whole gremlin thing too, and Tom’s dad built him a go-kart, and then that  _ache_  just got worse and worse. 

Ben mentioned the go-kart to his mom a thousand times. Well, he counted, and it was only seventy-two times, but his mom said a thousand, and one thing Ben had learned from life was that you don’t accuse your mom of getting a number wrong. Especially during tax season.

For his birthday, he got a go-kart. Which was nice and all, but it was a shiny manufactured one. Tom Shetland’s was hand-built from banana crates and a lawnmower, and it smelled of oil and wood and an odd smell that Ben thought was probably a rather  _dad_  like smell. Tom had punched Ben in the stomach and called him a jerk and said it was manure, because the crates had been kept in storage in a cow shed. Ben had punched Tom in the face and called him a bitch, and had stolen Tom’s lunch money as an after-thought.

Tom still wasn’t talking to him.

Ben sort of wished Dean Winchester was there. It was an odd-thought, one he’d had quite regularly, usually when faced with a new dilemma. Like when the English teacher handed out pop quizzes. Or when George Pullen actually kissed him on the mouth. With tongue. Or when Jenny Malone told everyone he had Chlamydia. 

Actually, the last one was easy – he just told everyone he’d got it from boning  _her_. The other two he solved with violence. George still couldn’t walk properly. (As Lisa had taught Ben not to be a homophobe, Ben had kicked George in the ankle more for the kissing him without warning, than for the kissing part. Ben had actually thanked him for the tongue part. That had been the most interesting lesson he’d had all  _year_.) The English teacher he’d brought down with clever violence. Well, he punctured the teacher’s tires. So it wasn’t really that clever, but it was smarter than punching an adult in the nose, anyhow.

And okay, then, maybe he didn’t actually need Dean Winchester  _there_. It’s just sometimes he thought maybe that  _ache_  that came on when seeing other boys with their fathers had been just a little less pronounced when Dean had been around that day. And, well, he had this rather awesome recurring daydream, that demon-fighting, gun-toting, all-round-awesome-hero Dean Winchester was his  _real_  dad, and all Ben had to do was wait for Dean to come back, and take Ben out of his small-town life and into a bright-as-daylight honest to goodness real  _adventure_. No more being nagged from his mom, no more teasing at school for not having anyone to give anything to on Father’s Weekend, no more silence from the audience at recitals because he didn’t have anybody there to clap for him.

The day that real adventure actually  _happened_  wasn’t because Dean Winchester turned up in his very awesome ’67 Chevy Impala. It wasn’t because a ghost started haunting the school, or because someone murdered his homeroom teacher, or even because he’d developed superpowers like Clark Kent.

It all happened because his mom burnt the dinner again.

Oh, and maybe, okay then, it was a  _tiny_  bit to do with that puberty thing people kept insisting was so horrible.

\----

“I’m trying, Ben, I really am.” Lisa Braeden’s pretty face was twisted by age and worry and now a final layer of stress, as she tried to salvage some of the burnt meatloaf, by scraping off the burnt bits with an old vegetable peeler. Most of their cutlery was in dangerous condition. Ever since a large new gym opened in town, she had been working harder and longer hours, and practical things like replacing broken household objects had started to fall by the wayside.

“I’m trying too, mom,” Ben said, trying to be helpful as he tried to extract some of the vegetables from the bottom of the pan, the water having boiled away ten minutes ago. “I finished the lawn.”

“I know, sweetheart, I’m so proud of you.” Lisa resumed scraping at the tin.

Ben stared at her, the pan of destroyed vegetable bobbing in his grip. She spoke the words, all right, those encouraging little phrases, the little pep talks designed to make him feel  _wanted_ , but she didn’t mean them any more. He knew because her face stayed the same, whether she was asking for his report card, telling him about her day, praising him to the hilt, or even telling him off. Still that same dead look on her face. She was tired, bone tired, and had been for a very long time.

“I’m proud of you too, mom,” Ben returned, automatically, but her small attempt at a smile didn’t cheer him up, because it wasn’t genuine, she didn’t feel it at  _all_.

“I’m a failure as a mom,” Lisa said.

Ben put the pan on the table, walked around it, and put his arm around her. She started to weep quietly into the meatloaf. It had been happening more and more frequently. She would cry if the phone went, cry if she heard birdsong, cry at the TV and not even at that sad commercial with the dying dog but at regular adverts like cereal and facial cream.

“You’re not,” he said, “you’re not.” But his stomach felt really bad because lately, he’d started to wonder if maybe she  _was_.

This time, however, Ben didn’t have time to feel guilty, because this time she didn’t stop crying. She just sat and sobbed and sobbed into the burnt meatloaf, even though Ben was confused. How could burning dinner make someone that sad? 

It was about two hours into her crying session that Ben wondered what Dean Winchester would do. Should he punch his mom? He seriously considered it for a moment. Then he followed it up with another consideration, what would Dean think if he’d clocked his mom one? He didn’t think Dean would be that impressed.

Without violence on the cards, Ben had to rely on his other mentors throughout his life. His grams, before she died, always said that a cup of tea could salve any ill. He didn’t see how a cup of tea could help. He made one anyway. It seemed to make his mom cry harder. Ben wasn’t surprised. His mom said grams was always a daft old coot. He hadn’t quite known what that meant until now. Obviously it meant that grams was retarded.

So, Dean and grams were off the list. Mr Rogers next door said a screw could fix anything. Ben figured that fell into the realm of violence, so knocked him off the list too. His homeroom teacher last year said that kindness was always a fix for everything, but he only said that because Gemma Bright was being bullied, and Ben was always kind to his mom, so that was another option out of the window. Spongebob Squarepants always had a lot of sage advice, like  _never run for a bus, especially one that’s going up a 90 degree angle_ , or that jumping through an open window to warn people about the dangers of it is a good thing, or if you’re going to embarrass yourself, it’s probably best not to do with a live microphone in the vicinity. None of those sterling life lessons were any help at all.

Ben had no option but to go with the advice from one of his more embarrassing sources.  _Days of our Lives_. Whenever one of the absurdly pretty people on that show were ill, or pretended to faint, or even had a chipped toenail, they rushed them to the hospital in an ambulance pretty quickly.

So that’s what Ben decided to do.

He rang 911, and waited for them to come pick them up.

\----

It was at the hospital, with his mom sat sobbing in the doctor’s office, that the puberty thing kicked in. At least, that’s what Ben thought it might be later. People said puberty meant staying up late and slamming doors and making reckless decisions.

It sure was a reckless decision. But then, Ben was mad, mad at his mom for breaking because she burnt the dinner. Worse things happened every day.

Nevertheless, once the decision was made, Ben was pretty sure he couldn’t go back on it.

“And you’re sure your dad will be able to look after you.” The doctor looked down at him sceptically. “Your mom will need a good few weeks of supervised treatment. Clinical depression isn’t a thing to be taken lightly. I would rather see him myself.”

”Oh, sure,” Ben said, watching them lead his mom away. “I’m sure he’ll be up to see you tomorrow. I’ll be all right by myself until then. I’m nearly fourteen.” Ben crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping the doctor would buy the lie.

“Well, I shouldn’t really-“ the doctor hum-hawed a little.

“I can go stay with friends tonight,” Ben said, “my friend Tom lives two houses down. I’ll be back in the morning with my dad.”

“I’m not sure about this,” the doctor said, firmly. “Just go sit in the waiting area, I’ll send some dinner in with one of the nurses, and we’ll get in contact with a social worker for you.”

Ben thought about kicking up a fuss that his  _dad will look after me scheme_  wasn’t playing out exactly as he thought it should. But then he wondered, what would Dean Winchester do? Dean would nod, say yes, sir, okay, whatever you say, and then leg it the hell out of there the second there was a free gap.

Ben nodded at the doctor, “Yes, sir, okay, whatever you say.”

The doctor smiled, ruffled his hair, and four minutes later Ben managed to leg it the hell out of there.

\----

Ben knew the local travel services better than anyone in the area. He didn’t tell anyone, but he wanted to be a mechanic when he grew up. There was something about the idea of working with cars, making engines hum, that thrilled him. He either wanted to be a mechanic, or a hunter like Dean, but he thought his mom might be happier with the former. With that former vocation in mind, Ben often travelled to the bus station, because Adam Cronin worked there. Adam knew his mom, in the ‘family way’ he had said one day. Ben figured that probably meant Adam was family – maybe a distant cousin. Adam let him mess around with some of the bus engines.

It didn’t take Ben long to get home, unlock the door, and run in. He carefully locked the door behind him, the thought of  _anything_  being able to clamber in through a window, through a door, and steal him away again – well, it was a horrid thought. It was why Ben slept with his baseball bat by his bed. They weren’t gonna take him again without a fight. 

Once he got into the house, he wasn’t too sure what to do. It felt big and cold without his mom in it. He put all the lights on, even though it was a misuse of electricity, and wasted a minute clearing up the meatloaf and vegetables and tea while he thought what to do.

What he  _wanted_  to do was find Dean. But Ben knew the odds were pretty high that Dean really wasn’t his father. He knew this because it was his favorite daydream. No kind of dream  _ever_ came true, let alone daydreams.  _Especially_  not daydreams.

There was only one thing for it. It was a good thing Ben had hero-worshipped the cast of  _CSI_  one summer (he had quite seriously considered going into forensics, until he realised that most of the tests took hours and hours longer than they said on TV, and he was quite mad at them letting people believe they were instantaneous) because he knew how to be a detective.

The best place to look for the identity of one’s father was his own DNA. However, Ben had neither the time (it wouldn’t be long before the doctors sent one of those busy-body social workers around, after all) nor the equipment to wait for DNA tests to be done. He also didn’t have any DNA to compare against. The only other place he could think of was his birth certificate. If his mom had known who his father was, then the name would be on there. The only thing was that Ben wasn’t too sure where his birth certificate  _was_.

Mom had a box up in her bedroom he wasn’t allowed in. Ben thought it was because that was where she kept her birthday presents for him. He knew where the key was for it, but he had never gone in, because he’d promised her he wouldn’t. Promises were important.

Ben made himself a peanut butter sandwich, and then ran up the stairs, chewing on his food slowly. It was dry. Mom made them better, moister somehow. He wondered if it was because she had been crying into  _all_ of his food. 

He strode into her room, still half-expecting to see her in bed, because she was ill, and liked to curl up in her duvet when she wasn’t feeling well, and even though he knew that she was in the hospital, his heart still stopped in his mouth for a few seconds because she wasn’t there. His eyes hurt a little, but he didn’t think Dean Winchester would ever cry, so he didn’t.

It didn’t take him long to find the key, but it took him longer to open the box, not because it was a difficult lock or because he thought he should probably try and lock-pick it if he did sort of become a hunter in the future, but because he felt guilty. His mom had made him  _promise_. Still, this was important. Mom had always said his happiness and safety were the most important things in the world to her. This would make him happy, to know the truth, he was sure of it.

He opened the box, and it was only he exhaled at seeing the contents that he realised he had been holding his breath. He hadn’t been this nervous for a long time, not since the last  _Narnia_ film, because he’d been so excited, so worried that they’d ruin it. Nestled in the top was a copy of _Hellraiser_. Ben’s chest ached a little. He’d been begging his mom for it for  _months_. It was a shiny new copy, still wrapped in its cellophane. His mom must have bought it and be waiting for him to be old enough.

His eyes still hurt, but he shook that feeling away, and pushed the DVD to the side. Underneath were a variety of things, including tiny school sweaters that looked much too small for his mom ever to have worn, and his old baby bracelet from the hospital, and a lot of scrawled letters that were written on pink paper and smelled really nice. He looked at one of them. It smelt like lavender, and read like a  _love_  letter. Ben felt a little nauseous, but couldn’t help smirking at the signature,  _I love you so much Lisa, love Abigail xxxx_. His mom had had a girlfriend once! Now she couldn’t make awkward noises when Ben asked questions about girls. Ben grinned, but it faded, because he couldn’t tease his mom about it at all, not when she was  _ill_ and in  _hospital_. He felt guilty for smiling at all, and kept searching.

It didn’t take him long. There was a metal box in at the bottom, with a numerical keypad. Ben didn’t have to think – he typed in his birth date. Mom had always told him she used his birth date as her very special number for things. It opened with a click, and there it was. Right on top. His birth certificate.

Ben pulled it out, and held it as gently as he did Bailey Patterson’s face for his very first kiss, two years ago. He stared at his name, typed across the top, and then his eyes travelled down the page. His mom’s name in type looked so lonely, lonely like she must be in the hospital, like she must be when Ben was at school.

His eyes travelled across to the  _father_  section. His chest tightened indescribably.

Minutes later, or perhaps hours, he was still there – on his knees, staring at his birth certificate, feeling on edge, and wishing his mom was there to explain things, because  _this_ , this was  _huge_.

Ben stared at it a bit longer, wondered what Dean Winchester would do, and then he leapt into action, knowing what he had to do.

He had to go find Dean Winchester and ask him in person what to do about it, of course.

\----

After he was fully packed to go, Ben swept his typewriter from his desk, and wrote a big letter to his mom in felt tip. Then, because he worried, he wrote it out seven more times, and left the notes everywhere.

 _I’ve gone to search for my real dad. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Love, Ben xxxx._

Now all he had to do was find Dean.

Ben figured it was probably going to be easier than it was photocopying his birth certificate on his mom’s scanner-come-photocopier-come-printer thing she had in her office, because he’d had to crack his mom’s password. It wasn’t his birth date. It was just his name, in full,  _Benjamin_ , because the computer wouldn’t accept a three-letter password, Ben reckoned. He felt stupid that it had taken him half an hour to figure out.

Anyway, he’d figured out the _finding Dean_  part pretty easily. He remembered seeing Dean slip his mom a piece of paper before Dean had left, and he knew his mom. Whenever she was given numbers, she programmed them into her cell phone. Thankfully, Ben hadn’t thought to take it with him to the hospital, where it probably would have been confiscated by the doctors. 

He found the phone still plugged into the wall upstairs, and thoughtfully pulled the charger out to put in his bag too. He would probably have to call his mom in a week or two to find out how she was doing, anyway. 

Ben propped his rucksack against the doorway, and sat at the bottom of the stairs, phone in his hands. This was a  _huge_  thing. He hoped his mom would forgive him afterwards. She had said once she would forgive him  _anything_ , so he was pretty sure she would. The fact was, Ben was alone, and he had to do  _something_  about his situation. He was pretty sure Dean would be able to stop his mom crying.

He took a deep breath, and then dialled Dean’s number.

\----

 **Interlude One**   
**  
**Sam**   
**

  
Sam settled into life without Dean quickly.

He’d had the practise, after all.

Sam allowed himself one day to mourn, and then the next day he snapped into action. His body remembered that painful routine after the ever-cycled Tuesdays, living without Dean, and although his mind had repeated firmly that it wouldn’t ever be needed again, apparently his body had betrayed his mind, because it slotted into that routine almost embarrassingly quickly. Sam wondered if it was because everyone else  _including_  himself knew that he was useless, that he would never be able to save his brother.

Bobby had wanted him to stay, but then, he was an old man and just wanted company. Sam was able to look at everything as coldly as that now. Bobby had wanted Sam to put Dean’s body into a hospital, but Sam couldn’t. He  _wouldn’t_. The hospital would poke and prod him, and pull him apart to figure out how come Dean’s body – ripped apart and bloodied and torn beyond all recognition – was still  _alive_. As Dean himself had said, on many an occasion, the lights were on, but no one was at home.

It was the amulet, of all things. Bobby had even hinted, drunk off his hairy behind one night, that if Sam had given it to John like he goddamned was supposed to, John Winchester might be alive right now. Sam tuned him out. He was busy finding a way to get Dean’s soul out of hell and back into his slowly healing body. The amulet was healing Dean’s body slowly, insides outwards, and Sam was charting the progress with a digital camera he stole from a pretentious salesman just for the hell of it. Without Dean, morals didn’t  _matter_  any more. 

There was old magic in that amulet, Bobby had said, just enough to hold the body together – it was a like a magical life machine. The only trouble was, once the amulet was removed, Dean’s body would just give up. And if Sam took him to a hospital, they would definitely remove the amulet. He grew angry with Bobby quickly. If Bobby meant that Dean should go to a hospital, then he was meaning Dean should  _die_ , in which case, Bobby wasn’t family at all.

Sam couldn’t trust Bobby with Dean’s body, so five days after camping at Bobby’s house and commuting to the hunts, Sam took Dean’s body with him and relocated to the motel he had used after Dean died that time before. He briefly considered hunting down the Trickster again, to beg for Dean’s life back, but the dude was a Trickster for a reason – he would string Sam up to be alligator fodder just as soon as give him a thousand free cupcakes. And he had promised not to.

Although he had promised to save Dean from hell, so look at how brilliant Sam’s promises were turning out.

\-----

  
Seven days after leaving Bobby’s house, thirteen days of Dean suffering in hell (and  _god_  who knew how long  _that_  felt like in hell what if hell turned every second into a century what if oh gee and that had to stop, right there, because Sam had a vampire’s nest to decimate, and can’t do it on an empty stomach) and Bobby tries to call.  _Again_. And because Sam’s busy feeling sorry for himself, he presses the  _receive_  key, because maybe just maybe shouting at Bobby might relieve some of the tension of the guilt that’s weighing him down. John Winchester always said not to go into a hunt any tenser than you had to.

“Bobby,” Sam starts, because he’s worked himself into a steam, ready to start yelling stuff at Bobby Sam really means at himself, but he’s forced to stop mid-breath, because of what Bobby says. “Oh,” Sam says in response. “Are you sure?”

Bobby replies.

“Oh,” Sam says, and then, because there’s nothing more eloquent coming forwards, and the guilt he didn’t think could get any worse  _triples_ , he adds, “ _Shit._ ”

Bobby babbles on about bringing the kid to see Sam. Sam nods, and nods, and nods, even though Bobby can’t see him. Sam tells Bobby where he is, hangs up, and gets to his feet to do something.

Sam tosses Dean’s body a long, grazing look before leaving the motel room. Dean’s stomach is still visible, and one his lungs, and his rib cage is still slowly knotting together… Sam steels himself, and leaves to see if there are any spare motel rooms.

Because Dean wouldn’t be very happy if his son saw him in that state. 

Not that Dean was anywhere near happy where he was now, it was just- Well-

Sam would do what he had to, and it would be fine. Even with this added bump in the road, Sam’s gonna get Dean out of hell, and everything’s going to get better, it has to, it’s going to all work out well.

 _Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, Sammy_ , Sam’s brain mocks quietly, in Dean’s rough warm tones.

 _I miss you_ , Sam tells Dean, just in his head.

But as usual, there is no reply.


	2. Part Two

**Part Two**

Ben had only ever met Sam Winchester once, but he hadn’t noticed that he was so  _tall._  Or maybe it wasn’t that he was tall that was surprising; it was that he was so sad. His mom was sad, and now Sam was  _sad._  The world sure wasn’t fair, not at all. All Ben knew was that the brother of Dean Winchester  _had_  to be awesome, so he was willing to put up with whatever bad mood Sam Winchester might be in, because he just  _had_  to be cool.

Sam was rubbing the back of his neck as he looked down at the photocopy of Ben’s birth certificate in his hand. He must have a sore throat or something, Ben reckoned, because Sam kept swallowing, and he looked a little pale. After another minute of silence, Ben hopped off the queen bed that Sam had made him sit on before Sam sat on the opposite one, and crossed over to the bathroom. He poured Sam a glass of tap water, and took it out to him.

Sam stared at the glass of water as if it was a bomb, about to explode.

“For your throat,” Ben said, pushing it towards Sam, and smiling hopefully.

Sam continued to stare, and it took a cough from Bobby for Sam’s dark eyes to move up from the paper and to Ben’s face. “Oh,” Sam said, taking the glass from Ben’s outstretched hand, “right. Thanks. Um. Ben.”

“You’re welcome,” Ben said.

Bobby coughed again, meaningfully.

“You’re, uh, a lot politer than your-“ Sam’s voice hitched a little, “father was at your age.”

“Really?” Ben leant back on the small table that housed the television, wanting to stay close to Sam. “Where is he, anyway? Bobby wouldn’t tell me.”

Ben shot a dark look across at the bearded man standing by the door. When he called Dean’s number, Bobby had been the one to pick up. Ben had told Bobby that Dean was his father, and his mother was in hospital, so he needed someone to look after him for a couple of weeks. Ben had gotten to bus out so far, and Bobby picked him up and brought him here, and hadn’t said one _word_  of Dean, only that he was taking him to Sam.

“Ben,” Sam started, putting Ben’s birth certificate to one side, and staring at the glass in his hand, “there was- I mean-“ Sam’s dark, dark eyes flickered up to Ben, and then slid away. Ben tilted his head a little, wondering what was the matter, and Sam just stood up from the bed so quietly and quickly that Ben flinched. Sam shook his head, then made a gesture with his hand, and Ben watched as Bobby sighed and followed Sam into the bathroom.

Ben sidled closer when the bathroom door closed shut.

 _“I can’t do this, Bobby, I can’t.”_  Sam’s voice was tight, low and rushed.

 _“You have to, Sam. There’s a little boy out there, a brave boy who crossed the country looking for answers, and you’re the one who needs to give them to him.”_ __

__“I just- I didn’t even- I’m not ready to be a relative to anyone, right now. Let alone an uncle. Or a__ father _, shit, Bobby, without Dean, I’m--- That’s_ me _that has to be—“_ __

 __“I know, kid, but this isn’t a debate, and if it was, you can’t win it. That boy needs you. So you’re going to go out there, and—“_ _

There was more muttering, low and fierce, and Ben didn’t want to listen to it. He crept backwards, and slowly moved over to the bed. He sat down, hands clasped, and waited for Sam and Bobby to come out. It sounded like they’re arguing, over him. Tom had said once that when parents argued it was the worst feeling in the world. Ben had only ever had one parent, and his mom was pretty sane, so she didn’t often argue with herself, but this feeling was pretty awful.

The feeling of guilt shifted into a different feeling when the door of the bathroom finally opened. Ben’s chest felt tight, and he realised he was feeling like he could be rejected, like Bobby and Sam could send him away without even seeing Dean. He figured Dean must be on some hunt, somewhere, and maybe it was somewhere too dangerous for someone like Ben.

Sam emerged, looking haggard. Ben had once gone for a whole summer without washing his hair, and Sam’s hair looked like that now, lying lank on his face, so Sam had to look at Ben through his hair. Sam crossed the floor, and crouched down on the carpet, and he took Ben’s hands in his own.

“Ben,” Sam said, his voice breaking, “Ben, I know you know about the world, that there’s another world of creatures out there, terrible creatures.”

“Yeah,” Ben said, confused. Why was Sam telling him all of this? Of course he knew. “You and Dean hunt them, to keep us all safe.”

“Right,” Sam said, and smiled for a moment, but the smile was tight, and Ben didn’t like it. “Well, about a year ago, there were some extra creatures released… from hell. Some real nasty demons. And for the last year, Dean and I… We’ve been at war.”

“War?” Ben heard his own voice tremble, but he didn’t even stop to think how young that tremble made him sound. People  _died_  in wars. People d- “No.” Ben looked at Sam, hard. “Do not tell me that Dean’s dead. I won’t believe it. I won’t.”

Sam smiled again, that horrible, loathing, tight smile. “I’m sorry, kid. Real life isn’t that simple.”

“Then he’s alive?” 

“Last year, I died.” Sam’s eyes moved from Ben’s to focus on their hands, so Ben looked too. His hands are small compared to Sam’s. “My spinal chord was severed. No one can survive that.”

“You have.” Ben really didn’t understand. Was this why Sam was so sad? Because he had died?

“Dean made a deal. He saved my life, in return for his soul going to hell. Hell hounds tore his body apart, but there’s a special thing – an amulet – keeping his body alive. But even if we manage to save his body, it doesn’t matter. Who he is… Dean’s lost in hell, Ben. I’m sorry. But your father is gone.” Sam looked directly at Ben, his eyes dark and hard. “So I’m going to have to get you back to your mother, because, kid, she’s all you’ve got left.” Sam patted Ben’s hand awkwardly, and then got to his feet, crossing the floor to stare out of the window.

Ben stared. His eyes hurt, and this time he didn’t want to stop the tears.

“You handled that nicely,” Bobby said softly, accusingly.

“I’m doing my best,” Sam returned, his voice low.

”Do better.”

“I can’t go back to my mom,” Ben said. He could hear his voice warbling, and mixing with his tears, because Dean was in  _hell_  and that seemed too awful, too wrong, and he didn’t want his voice ever to be right again. “She’s sick. Real sick. The doctor said she’s clinically depressed and maybe even insane and- and she won’t be out of the hospital for a couple of weeks at the least.” Ben turned, knowing what he was saying was right. “And she’s not all I’ve got left. Dean’s your brother, which makes you my family too.”

Sam whirled on his feet, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. “Kid-“

“My name’s Ben.” Ben got to his feet, and stared Sam down. “We’re family, and I need you. And I can help you too. You’re alive, when you’re meant to be dead. By that logic, we can save Dean too. Because I’ve  _met_  him and he’s the last person meant to be in hell, if that’s where he is.”

“Kid, you’re preaching to the converted, believe me,” Sam said, tiredly, sinking down and leaning against the radiator. Bobby put a hand on Sam’s shoulder and squeezed.

“Yeah,” Ben said, feeling furious, feeling a fire bursting in his chest that he couldn’t keep down, “but you said before that some demons  _escaped_  from hell. So if some horrible demons can get out, so can Dean. And I’m pretty sure if the situation was reversed, he wouldn’t sound like you do.”

“How do I sound?” Sam actually sounded amused as he said that, but Ben recognised that kind of humor, it was the kind of humor adults used sometimes to say things were all right when they _weren’t._

“Like you’ve given up on him!” Ben yelled.

“I haven’t given up on him!” Sam straightened up, his eyes wide. “You can’t just waltz in here, and-“

 _“Sam.”_

Sam visibly sank. “Sorry. Ben, I’m sorry. I just sound like that because I’m tired, and stressed-“

“-and cranky-“ Bobby interrupted.

Sam shot Bobby a glower, but said, “Yes, cranky. And I should never take that out on you, okay?”

Ben nodded, but Sam actually stepped forward and sat down on the bed, looking up at Ben. Ben felt odd, because with Sam sat down and hunched over, and Ben still on his feet, he was a little bit taller than Sam, and it made the world seem odder and more bizarre than it ever had.

“In fact,” Sam said slowly, swallowing again, “if I ever am cranky at you, for no good reason, you have permission to kick my ass, okay?”

“Okay,” Ben said, then he frowned. “What would be a good reason for yelling at me?”

“Something like, oh, I don’t know, travelling half way across the country without letting your mother know?” Sam said, his voice hard.

“Oh. Yeah. That.” Ben had the sudden urge to stare at his sneakers and never look up.

“Well, you’d better give me the name of her doctor,” Sam said. “Let’s get this sorted out and you back home.”

\----

Ben was still watching Sam, even though he had been told to sit down and eat his dinner by Bobby. Bobby was nice and kind, but Sam was different to how he thought he would be. He was tetchy and irritable. In fact, Sam reminded Ben of that time when he was six and got the chicken pox and it got down into his throat, and his mom had been irritable at everyone (the mailman, the grocery shop owner, God) until he’d gotten better. It was just worry over Dean. Ben was worried about Dean, too, so he was willing to forgive any bad mood Sam was in.

It was difficult trying to figure out what was going on during Sam’s phone calls, especially only hearing half the conversation. Every now and again, though, Sam would repeat things that a doctor had said, either so he didn’t have to repeat stuff to Bobby later, or maybe it was because Sam didn’t believe it and had to hear the words out loud.

Apparently his mom was severely depressed and possibly even psychotic, and Ben was worried she’d mentioned the time he was stolen away with the other kids. Bobby had leaned over and gruffly mentioned that there were at least thirty people locked in mental institutions who were stark raving sane, but had made the mistake of mentioning their supernatural experience one too many times to someone in a position of authority. “ _Let that be a lesson to you, boy_ ,” Bobby had said as a conclusion to the story.

Ben couldn’t quite comprehend that idea. Thirty people, all who had seen something horrible, but no one believing them. It was like his entire class at school being put into a loony bin. That was nearly everyone Ben knew.

“Hi, yes,” Sam said, over on the other side of the room as he was obviously put through to someone new. “I want to speak to Doctor Griegson. My name’s Sam Winchester. I’m Ben Braeden’s… uncle. I understand you’re treating his mother for some sort of mental illness…” 

Ben winced as Sam paused to listen to something, probably a splatter of platitudes from the other end of the line. Ben knew about that kind of thing. When his mom’s aunty died, he was forced to go to the funeral, dressed all in black like Sam was dressed now, although Ben had looked smart and Sam just looked like he was ill and pale. At the funeral, people had spoken a million different words to his mom and his grams, but afterwards, Ben didn’t think they’d actually  _said_  anything worth saying. It was all ‘oh, it must be awful’ and ‘if I can do anything for you’ and ‘my poor dears’. Ben knew how awful those words-of-nothing felt, so he knew not to say them to Sam and Bobby.

“Yes, she’s my sister-in-law.” Ben blinked as Sam spoke again, and he looked up at Sam, catching the man’s eyes as he did. Sam held up his hand. His fingers were crossed. Sam nodded at the phone. “I’ve got her son Ben with me. His father?” Sam looked away from Ben again, and down at his own knees. Ben’s stomach quivered in sympathy with how bad Sam was feeling. “I’m sorry to tell you that he’s seriously ill. I’m taking care of his father myself at this time. Cancer, late stages, I’m afraid. I don’t think I have the time to handle-“

Ben’s stomach dropped. Was Sam trying to get rid of him? Ben stared at Sam, his eyes starting a hurt a little again. Sam couldn’t be trying to send him back home, he couldn’t. There wasn’t anything to go to, except a permanent ache and a barrelful of sympathy and empty words.

“Yes, I understand the social services are stretched,” Sam said, impatiently, and Ben’s heart started to beat again in hope. “Yes, I understand you’ve got a lot on your hands…”

Sam looked around again, and Ben looked at him hopefully, but Sam was looking directly at Bobby. Ben twisted to look at Bobby. 

Bobby looked grimly at Sam, and said, “What would Dean do, Sam.” 

He didn’t even say it as a question. Ben recognised that easily, because Bobby’s voice didn’t rise at the end of the sentence. The words made Sam sag visibly. Sam’s shoulders slumped, and he turned back to the phone. “Well, yes, I suppose I could… Two weeks at, no—“

Two  _weeks_. This was even better than Ben had hoped for.

“Yes, sir,” Sam said, sounding sad. “Yes. I’ll bring him back in ten days time. She’ll definitely be discharged- Yes. Yes. Of course. Thank you.”

Sam clicked the phone shut, stared at if for a second, sent a panicked look to Bobby and then tried to smile at Ben. It didn’t look like a normal smile, because Sam’s face was tight, like it had decided it would never have to smile again, so attempting the expression cracked his face a little. It was more of a grimace, but Ben accepted the attempt at face-value.

“Uh, that was your mom’s doctor.” Sam tapped the phone against his hand. “They’re not impressed that you ran away from the hospital without letting anyone know. But they’re happy for you to stay with me for ten days.”

”Yes!” Ben said, and then covered his mouth up and looked a little ashamed, and then more quietly said, “Yes!”

“I’ll just…” Sam exhaled slowly. “We’ll just hit the books for a week and a half. Chill down on the hunting.” Sam looked across from Ben to Bobby again. Ben turned in time to see Bobby nodding.

”Aw,” Ben said, “but I thought-“

“It’s too dangerous,” Sam said, cutting him off.

“With Dean gone, I can be your sidekick,” Ben started to reason. He’d seen a lot of the old _Batman_  series, and he was  _nearly_  sure he could walk up a building with just a rope.

“I said no,” Sam said, irritably. “Just… do what Bobby and I tell you, okay?”

“Speaking of me,” Bobby said, “I’ve got a lead I need to follow up on.”

Ben decided he should probably be very quiet at this point. It was a good decision. Sam suddenly went very still, and went even paler than before, as he stared at Bobby. Ben looked between the two of them. Bobby looked at Ben and winked, and then he looked at Sam and shrugged.

“A friend of mine in Baltimore might have a lead on something that can get Dean out, Sam,” Bobby said, very slowly. “You stay here and hit the books, and I’ll go and see him.”

Sam moved a little, almost like a tremble, but he only trembled once. It was like he was trying to speak, but couldn’t.

“I’d send you, Sam, you know I would, but I don’t think Dean should be moved, and besides, Archie won’t speak to anyone he don’t know, and he don’t know you.” Bobby looked across at Sam. “You’ll be okay, right?”

“I—“ Sam looked torn, and then he shrugged. “Yeah. Perfect.”

When Sam said that, it was the first time Ben had felt  _really_  sad since coming here. Sure, learning about Dean was sad, because, well,  _hell_. Ben had been to Sunday School like all regular kids. Of all the people in the world, Dean was the last person that should be getting poked with pitchforks and being set alight. But then, like his mom said, the world really wasn’t fair. One thing Ben had learned since meeting Dean and Sam Winchester, though, was that the world was  _weird_. The world could be  _magical_. With that firmly in his mind, even learning about Dean hadn’t made him that sad, because he was positive they would get Dean out of hell. With three people (Sam and Bobby and Ben) all completely focussed on it, how could they fail?

But it was Sam’s use of the word  _perfect_ that made Ben feel sad. Because no one ever said _perfect_  like that unless they really didn’t mean it.

\----

Ben was tired, and feeling more than a little awkward. He really wished Bobby hadn’t left, but he had a weird feeling that Bobby had done it deliberately.

“So,” Sam said, “you’re eight years old?”

“Nearly nine,” Ben said, defensively. He looked across at Sam. Sam was hunched over on the opposite bed, and was pulling the corner of the bed’s worn blanket, threading it through his fingers as if it was the most interesting activity in the world. “How old are you?”

“How old do you think?” Sam looked at Ben, for the first time in an hour. Ben couldn’t believe Bobby had been gone that long. Ben picked at his now very cold hamburger.

“Um… thirty?” Ben guessed. Sam did look really old.

“Uh,” Sam said, scratching his nose, “yeah, close enough.”

“How close?”

“I’m twenty-five.”

“You look older,” Ben said. “I think it’s because you’re sad.”

“You sound older than you look,” Sam said, looking Ben up and down appraisingly. “You’re small for your age, too.” Sam winced then, as if even he realised that was the wrong thing to say.

“You’re tall for yours,” Ben shot back.

“You know, you sound a lot like Dean,” Sam said, and then inhaled fast, as if hurt. Sam looked down at his hands again.

“Really?” Ben tried not to sound too pleased, because it was an awesome compliment, but he had the feeling too much happiness might bum Sam out even more.

“Yeah,” Sam said, his voice tight. He looked back across at Ben. “So, uh, you got a girlfriend?”

“No,” Ben said. “Not at the moment. I was hanging with this girl Rosie, but she turned out to be a geek.”

“A geek, huh?” Sam gave a shrug.

“So I dropped her,” Ben said, shrugging back.

“I’m a geek,” Sam said.

“No, you’re not. You’re much too cool.” Ben narrowed his eyes a little at Sam. Adults sure did say some odd things when they were sad and tired.

“Right,” Sam said, slowly. There was a growling sound in the still air of the room. Ben realised it was Sam.

“Do you want this?” Ben held out the stone-cold hamburger Bobby had brought him. 

Sam looked at it, looked at Ben, looked at it, then looked at Ben. He looked a little seasick. “Um,” Sam said, “no thanks. How about- I mean- Would you-“ Sam rolled his eyes, and muttered under his breath for a second.

”What?” Ben said.

“Wanna go grab something actually edible to eat?” Sam made one of those grimace-like attempts at a smile again. “There’s a diner down the road that’s not too bad.”

“I don’t have any money left,” Ben said, but didn’t want Sam to feel bad for him, so he rummaged in his bag and pulled out his bag of peanut butter sandwiches. They were a bit squashed. Okay, they were mulched to death. But like his mom had started to say more recently, it all looks the same when it’s inside you.

“You don’t have any-“ Sam closed his eyes, exhaled, opened them and shook his head at Ben. He didn’t look too mad. “Dude, it turns out you’re my nephew. Uncles buy their nephews food.”

Ben smiled.

Sam got up, picked up his jacket (black again, Ben noted, and made a mental note to ask his mom for all-black clothes when he gets home) and crossed over to Ben. Sam hovered by Ben’s side a little, and Ben looked up at him. His neck hurt a little. Sam’s hand shot out a little, as if he was going to ruffle Ben’s hair, but Sam put his hand back in his pocket, and moved towards the door. 

“Thanks,” Ben said, following Sam out of the room as Sam locked it up.

“You really are much politer than Dean was at your age,” Sam said.

Ben wasn’t sure how to react to that, because Sam sounded almost proud, but he looked really sad, like his mom had looked when the nurses had pulled her away from him.

\----

“Sam,” Ben said, bored of eating his vegetables even though they were cooked properly for once, “you know… the stuff you fight?”

“Hmm?” Sam had been distracted through most of the meal, looking through a tattered old diary, and Ben found he was missing the sound of talking. Even though his mom hadn’t really said anything useful for weeks, at least she had talked, prattled on about nothing and everything and fabric softener, and Ben found he took comfort in the sound of sound. Sam was quiet a lot of the time. He figured it was because Sam had learned how to sneak up on the bad guys, and that wasn’t something that he could stop doing easily.

“Y’know,” Ben said. “Demons and stuff.”

“Keep your voice down,” Sam said lightly, but he did lower the book slightly. “And yes, I know them, their names and habitats and likely activities, but I wouldn’t say I know them  _personally_.”

Ben frowned. “Are you always this sarcastic?”

Sam looked at Ben then. “No,” Sam said. “It’s just…” Sam frowned, like he had a particularly bad piece of math homework. “Well, do you know that feeling? When there ought to be something in the air, and it’s not, and so you put it there automatically?” Sam pinched his nose lightly with his hand, flattening his book out with his other. “No, of course you wouldn’t know-“

“Sure I do,” Ben said, putting his fork down and stopping his pretence of eating the vegetables. “Like when I do stuff around the house ‘cause mom hadn’t been doing them.”

“Uh,” Sam said, “sort of, yes.”

Sam seemed flustered, and looked away from Ben, but that was a good thing. Ben had learnt that adults tended to be a tiny bit more honest when they were flustered. “So, those bad things…”

“Yes?”

Ben played with his fork for a second, and then said in a rush, “Does Santa Claus exist?”

Sam blinked, looked back at Ben, and blinked a couple times more. “Santa Claus?”

”Yeah,” Ben said, defensively. “Mattie Walker told me a couple of years back that he didn’t, but I think he does, ‘cause I got the whole Led Zeppelin discography last Christmas and I hadn’t even told mom I wanted it. I just e-mailed Santa.”

“You e-mailed-“ Sam looked a little stunned.

“Yeah,” Ben said, “there was this card on the doorstep saying Santa’s E-mail address.”

“Santa’s…”

“Yeah,” Ben said. Was Sam slow or something? “the.realsanta@yahoo.com.”

“Santa has a yahoo.com e-mail account?” Sam raised his eyebrows.

“That is what I said.”

“Hmm, I-“ Sam gave a small shrug. “I can’t tell you if Santa’s real or not. He never visited me, but we were on the move all the time.”

“Maybe I should just e-mail him and ask.” Ben played with the straw in his soda. “Do vampires exist?”

“Yes.”

”Golems?”

“Yes.”

Ben tilted his head. “Living gargoyles?”

“Not that I’m aware,” Sam said, starting to flick through the book again. Ben caught a glimpse of a complicated diagram, and blinked. Sam was really smart. “Although I suppose it might be possible for a statue to be imbued with a certain amount of life force, given an appropriate mystical catalyst and accelerant, and the right-”

Sam was too smart. Ben decided he had to interrupt, or maybe his brain might start leaking from his ears. “How about the bogeyman?”

“Uh, I think there was a tulpa once who manifested in a bogeyman form, but as a species, not so much.”

Ben gripped the edge of the table. Sam was starting to say things he didn’t know if he wanted to hear. But he couldn’t stop asking. “Shapeshifters.”

“Met two.”

“Werewolves?”

Sam’s voice hitched a tiny bit that time when he said, “Yes.”

“Oh.” Ben looked down at his hands, his voice small. He knew he had asked the questions, but he wasn’t particularly sure that he had really wanted to know the answers. Especially when Sam was so sure that monsters existed, but doubted Santa. “How about fairies?”

Sam was oblivious that Ben was getting upset. “Um, nasty little things, can infest a whole area if you let them.”

“Bloody Mary? Or the candy man?”

”Uh, bloody Mary  _did_. Dean and I-“ Sam swallowed a little, and then shrugged. “Don’t know about the candy man. Wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Oh.”

“Hey, is something going on here?” Both Ben and Sam looked up as the lady from the opposite booth stood up and over their table. She looked about sixty, and she looked mad. Ben couldn’t tell more from that through his tears.

“Uh,” Sam said, “we’re eating dinner?”

“The boy’s crying,” the woman said, accusingly.

Ben felt suddenly very small and very young as Sam dropped the book and looked across at him. He found himself blushing. Ben hated blushing. He hated crying, too, but he couldn’t seem to stop. He wondered if this was why his mom was crying all the time, because she knew all this horrible stuff existed in the world.

“I wouldn’t let him have any more cake,” Sam said, softly.

Ben was impressed at how easily Sam lied. He always felt awkward and really bad. He supposed in the face of things, one little lie from Sam wouldn’t make Sam feel as bad as he must feel knowing Dean was in hell.

“Oh,” the woman said, flustered, as Ben nodded at her, wiping the last of his tears away. “Sorry to disturb you.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Sure you are.”

The woman frowned slightly, but turned away.

“Look, I’m-“ Sam fidgeted awkwardly,. “I’m sorry about before. I, uh, I was your age when I found out this stuff was real. I guess I forgot how much it hurt.”

“It’s okay,” Ben said. “I know you’ve got more troubling things to think about.”

“Hey,” Sam said. “No. You’re my troubling thing to think about, kid.” He colored slightly, as if only just realising what he had said. “I mean, you’re not trouble,” he hurried to cover up.

“Yeah, I am,” Ben realised. If he wasn’t there, Sam could spend every second saving Dean. He felt sad again, but not sad enough to cry. “Thank you for having me here.”

“Um,” Sam said, looking a little unsure of what to say. “You’re welcome?”

“Good,” Ben said firmly, before shooting a look at the still plainly annoyed woman at the booth opposite, and grinning back at Sam. “Now how about that cake?”

Sam just rolled his eyes, but Ben took it as a laugh at his joke.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Sam said. “It’s someone’s bedtime, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Ben said, as he grabbed his coat and followed Sam up to the counter. “You do look tired.”

Sam rolled his eyes again, and was in the middle of a facial expression that could have almost been a proper smirk, but the waitress behind the counter interrupted them by saying, “Aw, your son is so cute.”

Ben watched as Sam did smile – but it was that tight, self-loathing one he didn’t like. “Uh,” Sam said, paused for a second, and then lied, “well, you wouldn’t be calling him so cute if you’d seen the state of his bedroom.”

The waitress was really pretty, and showed her wisdom teeth when she laughed at Sam. Ben wondered if Sam knew the waitress was hitting on him. Girls always smiled that widely when they were sweet on you.

“They’re always messy at that age,” the waitress said.

“Hmmm-mmm,” Sam said, noncommittally. “Thanks for the meal.”

“Hope to see you around later,” the waitress said.

Sam grunted, nodded, and shepherded Ben out of the restaurant.

“She really liked you,” Ben told Sam, as soon as the door swung closed behind him.

“What?” Sam blinked. “Oh, no, she just thinks I’m a good prospect because I’ve got a child. Some women are odd like that.”

“A good prospect for what? Kissing? Because parents seem to not do much of that, at least in public, which is a very good thing. My friend Tom’s parents get kissy sometimes.”

“Um,” Sam said, scratching his nose. He did that a lot, Ben observed. “A prospect for marriage, I think.”

“Oh,” Ben said. “That doesn’t make sense. She doesn’t know what you do. You could be a serial killer.”

“I am,” Sam said.

“Of humans, silly,” Ben said, having to jog a little to keep up with Sam’s long strides. “Um, could you slow down a little?”

Sam actually stopped, looked down at Ben, and blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Of course. Sorry. Look, I’m just going to stop by my room and look after… your father’s body, um, change the IV, stuff like that. I’m going to have to lock you in your motel room.”

“What?” Ben stared at Sam in horror. “No. I mean, you can’t.”

“Um, scary monsters really do exist? Anything could come in and eat you? Ring a bell what-so-ever?” Sam folded his arms and glared down at Ben.

“Well,” Ben said, “when you put it that way.”

“Good,” Sam said, nodded, and started to move again.

“It’s just-“ Ben started.

“ _What_?” Sam said, a little snappishly.

“Is this an occasion I can kick your ass?” Ben tilted his head. “Because you’re going to have to crouch down a bit so I can reach it.”

“Sorry,” Sam said, and he really did sound sorry. He twisted his hands a little. “What did you want to say?”

“Can I see him?” Ben looked up, and tried to do that thing which his mom told him not to do too often, which was to keep his eyes open, wide open, so he looked a little teary. He sure hoped it worked on Sam.

Sam looked down at him stonily, before he swallowed once, hard. “Are you sure? Because it’s not that nice of a sight, kid.”

“My name’s not kid,” Ben said. “It’s Ben. And I can handle it.”

Sam shrugged, his shoulders tight, barely moving. “If you’re sure.”

\----

Ben had seen plenty of dead bodies on TV. He sneaked downstairs on occasion and watched those grotty autopsy documentaries, and the old horror movies, and tried to figure out how the gory special effects were created.

Even though this was  _totally_  no special effect, it did sort of look fake, like Dean was made of plastic. Maybe that was because Sam had said Dean’s soul was in hell, so this was just like that saying that his mom had used on him a few times when he wasn’t paying attention.  _Lights are on, no one’s home._

Dean’s body was prone, and ripped open, and yet somehow it was breathing, rhythmically, even though everything was all exposed. Sam and Bobby had rigged Dean up to some sort of IV thing like Ben had seen plenty of at the hospital.

Ben opened his mouth to say something, and looked across at Sam, and shut his mouth. Seeing Dean like that hadn’t made him too nervous – in fact, with the things he’d seen on TV, it was less scary seeing it in real life. 

It was seeing Sam that made Ben’s world crumble.

Sam’s eyes were fixed on Dean, like Dean was the only thing in the world, and he didn’t look sad at all. He looked  _angry_ , like he could destroy the whole world with just one glance. There was fire in Sam’s eyes, almost tangible, and Ben had no doubt in that instant that Sam’s gaze could destroy the world, bring in down in hellfire and ashes. 

And yet, all this power was being held back, was being turned inwards on Sam himself and all that world-ending fire was raging  _inside_  Sam. Because it was Dean lying there. 

Ben had heard his mom saying, in one of her less lucid times, that she would die for him, but Ben had never seen it so physically until now.

Sam would die for Dean.

\---

Ben had found himself moving even before he realised it, one hand outstretched, because he just wanted to take Sam’s hand. Like when he was sad because he didn’t get first place on Sport’s Day on the hundred metre sprint, he was sad until his mom came and because he’d said ‘no public hugging’ she just took his hand, and he felt better.

The problem was, Ben realised afterwards, when he was lying on one of the really big beds on his own, locked in a room doused in holy water and surrounded in rock salt, was that Sam hadn’t realised Ben was trying to hold Sam’s hand. All Sam had thought, as he shouted at Ben and shepherded him roughly out of the room yelling stuff about how no one was allowed to touch Dean ever, was that Ben was about to touch Dean.

Ben wanted to sleep, or cry, but he found himself unable to do either. He just lay on the bed, trying to breathe evenly, breathe quietly. He didn’t realise he must have fallen asleep until Sam’s voice woke him up.

He hadn’t realised the walls were so thin, and from the way Sam didn’t muffle his voice, Sam mustn’t have realised it either.

 _“There wasn’t really a lead, was there? I’ve had enough manipulation from Ruby, thanks, for a human to do the same…”_

There’s a long pause. Ben figures it must be Bobby that Sam’s talking to. He sits up on the bed, and scrunches as close as he can to wall without disturbing the salt lines Sam had put everywhere.

“ _I’m in no mood to deal with a child, Bobby…”_

Ben’s chest was tight at that. Of course Sam was in a bad place. He was in a worse place than Ben was. At least his mom wasn’t in hell. And wasn’t that something you didn’t think every day. Ben figured that probably happened a lot to the Winchesters.

 _“The first customer of the day is always trouble? Bobby, those aren’t your papa’s words. They’re from_ Psycho _. But yes, I do see what you’re getting at. I do. Anything’s gonna seem hard after- after this. It’s just- Dean’s in_ hell _, Bobby. Because of me. I should be spending every second looking to save Dean, and that includes the fact that I shouldn’t be whining on the phone to you.”_ _  
_  
Ben can _hear_  the hate through the wall. Sam hated himself. Ben hated that sound.

“ _Sometimes trouble is what someone needs? Right. Right… Yes, Dean would kick my ass to the equator if I didn’t look after his son. Christ, Bobby, Dean’s got a_ son. _Yeah, it’s only just hit me. I’m an uncle. I’m a god-awful uncle._ ”

Ben found himself shaking his head, which was odd, because minutes ago he was devastated and thinking the same thing.

 _“I really shouted at him. Bet he hates me.”_

“No,” Ben said out loud, surprising himself again. 

 _“Aw, Bobby, why do you always have to be right? I’ll go see to Dean, then I’ll try and smooth it over- I am trying-“_

There was a creaking, like someone getting off a bed, and then Sam’s voice grew more muffled, like he was walking away. Ben realised Sam’s bed must have been near his own, which perplexed him, because it wasn’t before. It must have meant Sam had moved his own bed so he would be closer to Ben. Probably to be closer to protect him, if necessary, even with the wall in the way.

Ben suddenly found himself feeling like he was going to cry again, but it wasn’t sadness, it was more because he really  _was_ trouble. He was getting in Sam’s way of saving Dean, all because he didn’t want to stay home on his own.

He was so  _selfish._

Really freaking out now, Ben hurtled off his bed and over to his pack, pushing his clothes in as quickly as he could. He pelted to the bathroom and was just coming out with his toothbrush when there was a click, and Sam walked through the door.

Sam looked like he hadn’t got any sleep at all in a lifetime.

Ben paused, toothbrush and toothpaste still clenched in his fist like it was a prize.

Sam looked at Ben, then at the toothpaste, then at Ben’s packed rucksack by the door, and then back at Ben. He folded his arms. “Going somewhere?”

“Um,” Ben said, eloquently. He looked down at his feet, then up again. “I figured I was too much of a nuisance so I’m going home.”

“Home, huh?” Sam was looking at him blankly.

“Yeah,” Ben said. “You’ve given me enough of an alibi so the hospital won’t come looking for me.”

“And how were you planning on getting home?” Sam’s tone was mild.

“Hitch hiking.”

“Hitch-“ Sam gave up pretending to be unmoved by the conversation, and huffed noisily. He crossed the floor slowly and sat down on the small table, obviously trying to drop his height closer to Ben’s. Ben noticed that adults did that a lot when they were trying to be kind to you. “You’re pretty brave, aren’t you?”

Ben beamed at the compliment. “Sure I am. Can I tell you a secret?”

“Uh, sure.”

“When I’m feeling super scared about something, and I don’t know what to do, sometimes I wonder what  _Dean_  would do in my situation.”

Sam looked as if he had been slapped, and the table he was sat on creaked a little. Ben realised Sam hadn’t put his weight on it until now.

“Is something wrong with that?” Ben asked.

”What?” Sam blinked. “Uh, no. It’s…” Sam shook his head a little, looking away from Ben, as if looking at something far in the distance. He then looked down at Ben with a softly sad expression on his face. “I kinda used to do that myself when I was your age.”

Ben felt suddenly, irrationally proud. “Yeah?”

“Your dad used to be pretty awesome,” Sam said, that curiously faraway look in his eyes again.

“You sound like you’re giving up on him again,” Ben said slowly.

“No, never.” Sam’s voice was hard now, sure, and then it softened again as he said, “No.” He gave a small shrug with his eyebrows. “He’s no less awesome now.” Sam looked away.

“But?”

Sam looked sharply back at Ben. “But what?”

“You paused, like you were going to say but,” Ben said. “Adults do that a lot.”

“Right,” Sam said. “I was just going to say, as a definite survival tip, never tell Dean that he’s awesome to his face. You will never hear the end of it.”

“I’ll remember that,” Ben promised. “How-“

Ben didn’t get to ask his question, but by the time he had the chance to, he’d forgotten what he was going to ask, because Sam got a phone call. Ben didn’t know what it was about, but he thought it was about a film, because Sam said the word  _poltergeist_  a couple of times and spoke the rest in muffled tones. Ben thought it was weird how he could hear Sam clearer when he was in a different room. He supposed it was because Sam didn’t know Ben could hear him through the walls, and so Sam didn’t bother to muffle his words.

“Was that good news?” Ben asked as Sam hung up, even though he didn’t think it was.

“Not entirely. There’s a poltergeist-“ Sam must have seen Ben’s confusion on his face – Ben’s mom always said he showed all his emotions on his face like a rainbow – because he hurried to explain, “it’s a ghost, an angry ghost, usually very malicious- Well, there’s someone who did me a favor, and – well, I’ve got to go and deal with it. It shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours. Three at most. So, uh, let’s go get some breakfast, okay?”

“Okay,” Ben said. 

Then puberty got him in trouble  _again_. That is, if puberty definitely meant  _making reckless decisions_. Because during breakfast, Ben asked if he could go with Sam to sort out the poltergeist, as the hunt could go on for hours, and what if he needed to get out of the motel room and Sam wasn’t there to protect him?

Mind you, Ben figured later, it wasn’t like he was entirely to blame one hundred per cent. It still might not have happened if Sam hadn’t said yes.

\---

Ben was tired.

When Sam said he was going on a hunt, Ben had imagined it to be tremendously exciting, like in the Indiana Jones movies, with Sam dodging boulders and setting off traps and escaping by an inch from poisonous monsters. He didn’t realise it was a lot of  _waiting._

Well, maybe Sam was doing interesting things, but all Ben could sit and do was wait. It wasn’t like he could even play Dean’s  _awesome_  tape collection. The Impala’s cassette player only worked when the keys were in the ignition, and Sam had pointedly taken the keys with him. As if Ben would ever turn a car on after what had happened last time he did that. (He was still getting half of his allowance for the damage he did to next door’s fence.)

He drummed his fingers against the dashboard, and tried to imagine what Sam was doing. It hadn’t been very interesting so far. They had spent a good hour in a local library, and another two hours rooting through old county records, and Ben had spent most of that time trying to be quiet, because Sam was worrying about leaving Dean on his own.

But now Ben had been in the car alone for an hour, and there were some pretty funky things going on at the house. Like one of the windows breaking. And there was a strange wailing sound coming intermittently from the house.

Ben waited ten more minutes, and then there was the sound of shouting. It was Sam’s voice. He was sure of it.

Freaking out, he grabbed hold of the gun that Sam had given him, full of rock salt, just in case of emergency, and opened the door. Holding the gun out in front of him like Sam had taught him, Ben crept up to the house, and then, thinking about how Dean would do it, yanked open the door and ran in screaming.

Only for a large piece of furniture to come hurtling out of nowhere.

Ben registered Sam’s terrified face, and some fog-like creature with tendrils flashing purple in the middle of a wrecked room, before everything turned black.

\----

Ben woke up in the car while it was still moving. There was a half-melted pack of peas on his head. 

“Um,” Ben said. “What hit me?”

“A table,” Sam said, and then started to shout.

Ben didn’t even shout back, because he totally deserved it.

\----

Ben wasn’t so sure he deserved to be yelled at for three hours straight, but here it was, three hours later, and Sam was still telling him off in a harsh, grating voice.

“You  _idiot_. I told you specifically to stay in the car.”

Sam’s movements were jerky but efficient as he dealt with Dean’s bandages. He had to replace them at least four times a day, he said. Sam’s entire focus was on Dean, except for his words, directed at Ben.

Ben winced. “I’m sorry.”

“I nearly got you  _killed._ ” Sam’s voice was almost distracted now, and Ben noticed Sam was tying and untying the same knot. “I freaking went and did it again. Someone who needed me and I mess up. You could have been  _killed_ , Ben.”

Ben had been hoping that Sam would call him by his name for the last day, but now he had, it didn’t feel very nice at all. He found himself abruptly wishing Sam had called him  _kid._

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ben said. “You said to stay in the car and I got out. I was just worried, is all.”

“Yeah, it’s my fault,” Sam said, untying the same knot again. “I should have known you’re too young to stay in the car. Me and my stupid issues.”

“Wasn’t your fault,” Ben said stubbornly.

“Was.”

“Wasn’t.”

“ _Was.”_

“Wasn’t.”

“It  _was!_ ” Sam turned to him with fury in his eyes, but Ben barely registered that, because he was concentrating much more on staying upright when  _something_  made him stumble backwards. 

Sam had turned back to Dean, and didn’t seem to notice that something had made Ben stagger.

Ben stared at Sam, and put his hands out around him. There wasn’t anything there. He frowned at Sam. Had it been  _Sam_  that had done that? Ben had believed in magic for as long as he could remember, but if Sam  _had_  done Ben knew it was intentional, because Sam had been shouting at him since they left the now un-haunted house, because he didn’t want Ben hurt, so he wouldn’t hurt Ben deliberately.

 _Maybe Sam didn’t know he could do it._

Ben chewed on his lower lip, a plan in his head. He didn’t  _want_  to accidentally give Dean an infection, so he excused himself to go to the bathroom, and washed his hands thoroughly with scalding hot water. Then he sauntered back into the room, headed over towards Dean and Sam, and quickly, deliberately, touched Dean’s shoulder.

“I told you not to do that!” Sam’s voice was low, and grated. Ben pulled his hand away, as if pretending to be sorry, then he looked up at Sam challengingly and put one finger slowly and deliberately on Dean’s shoulder again.

“ _Ben_!” Sam brought his hand up harshly, as if he was about to hit Ben, but his hand didn’t come into contact with Ben.

Not that it mattered.

Ben stumbled backwards, and fell onto the carpet, holding his cheek. It stung slightly, and the falling kind of hurt, but it didn’t matter under the euphoria of being  _right._  Of holding the key to save Sam’s world.

Ben got back to his feet. Sam looked a little stunned.

“Are you all right?” Sam’s voice was quiet, hushed, as if he suspected he might have knocked Ben to the floor, but as if he was also in heavy denial. Ben didn’t blame him. It seemed fantastic, even in Sam’s dark world of monsters.

Ben nodded, and slowly reached out to touch Dean again, his eyes hard and focussed on Sam. Sam seemed too shocked to do anything, so Ben reached for the sheet, to peel it back and pretend to be going for one of the exposed organs.

Sam didn’t even need to gesture this time, but this time Ben was absolutely  _positive_  it was Sam and not some unforeseen aspect of Dean’s amulet, because he saw Sam’s eyes narrow before the unseen force hit him and made him stumble backwards.

Ben picked himself up and grinned at Sam, who just looked entirely perplexed. Still grinning, Ben reached for Dean’s now exposed body. His hand was two inches away from Dean’s rib cage when it was batted away.

“Stop this,” Sam said, his eyes wild as he looked at Ben, “stop pretending-“

“I’m not pretending,” Ben said, and put his hand out again. Sam stared, wide-eyed, as Ben’s arm was yanked away, too quickly for it to be Ben.

“Is that…?” Sam’s voice dropped to a whisper, and for the first time since Ben had seen him since arriving, there was a glimmer of hope on Sam’s face.

“It’s you,” Ben said, clapping his hands together excitedly, ignoring the burn of the bruises he’d gotten proving his theory. “You’re magic!”

Sam nodded, and then he abruptly sat down on the bed opposite to Dean, and he was shaking. Ben thought Sam was laughing, until he realised Sam was just trembling, like he was terribly, completely scared. Ben crossed the floor and did the one thing that had been helping his mom up until now. He threw his arms around Sam.

Sam was frozen for a second, and then pulled Ben into a huge hug.

“Can we save Dean now?” Ben asked, when Sam finally let him go.

Sam’s eyes flickered over to Dean’s rhythmically breathing, broken body.

“I really think we might be able to,” Sam said, a small smile flickering onto his face as he looked down at Ben. Ben grinned and pulled Sam back into the hug, but he didn’t mention to Sam that he could see Sam’s reflection in the TV, because he didn’t think Sam wanted to talk about it.

Because instead of continuing to look happy, Sam looked absolutely terrified.

Sam obviously didn’t want to dwell on it at all, because he pulled his phone out and, fingers steady now, dialled a number than was obviously familiar to him. “Hi, Bobby,” Sam said, his voice strong as Ben pulled away and sat down on the floor next to Dean. “I think we might have found something which might help Dean.”

As Sam began to talk to Bobby, the strength in Sam’s voice might have been reassuring to Ben, had Ben been able to pretend that the look in Sam’s eyes wasn’t still of terror.

But he couldn’t pretend. For some reason, even though they had discovered something which might help Dean, Sam was absolutely scared by it. And when an adult was scared of something, Ben had discovered, then it was definitely something to be scared of indeed.

Ben swallowed, but pushed it aside when a fun idea occurred to him. “We’ve got to test your powers, Sam,” Ben said, and got to his feet smiling.

“Hmm?” Sam still looked a little shell-shocked, and he was back to staring at Dean. 

Ben looked at Sam, then across at the bin, where there was a variety of empty energy drink cans. Sam had obviously been using them so he didn’t have to sleep so long, so he could look after Dean.

“I’ve got an idea,” Ben said, and smiled.

\----

“The blue one.”

Sam gave a small shrug, and the blue can flipped off the bookcase.

“The red one.” 

The red can followed suit.

”Dude,” Ben said, “you are  _made_  of awesome.”

Sam grinned at him, and said, “You really  _are_  a lot like your father,” and then, for some bizarre reason, looked suddenly and incomprehensibly sick. “I mean, in a couple of your mannerisms,” Sam rushed onwards to say, “and your attitude. Otherwise you’re a lot like your mom, from what I remember.”

“Yeah, people say I’m a lot like my mom,” Ben said, and wondered why Sam looked a little sick from saying Ben was like Dean, but pushed it aside to ask, “So you think you’ve got it handled?”

Sam gestured, and Ben’s mangled bag of peanut butter sandwiches, still lying on the table, rolled over and into the bin.

“I’ve got it handled,” Sam said.

“So,” Ben said, drawing out the syllable. “Why did you look a bit sick just then? When you said I reminded you of Dean?”

“Um,” Sam said, scratching his nose apologetically, “I don’t think you’re old enough to know why.”

There was a rustling sound at the door. Sam held out his hand, and his curved hunting blade slid into it as he stood up and moved towards the door. Ben grinned, and automatically went to stand in front of Dean’s body.

The door opened, and Sam opened his hand, ready just in case it was someone or something malicious. Ben saw Sam relax before he saw who it was.

“Hi there,” Bobby said, his voice low but his eyes bright.

”Bobby,” Sam said, nodding at Bobby, and putting the blade onto the table. 

“Hello, Bobby,” Ben said. “How was your trip?”

“It was good, Ben. Sam been treating you right?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah,” Ben said. “He was a bit cranky, though. And he won’t tell me why he looked sick just now when I reminded him of Dean.”

“Oh,” Bobby said, and then said, “Sam, even for a hunter that’s a new level of gross.”

Sam was looking embarrassed now. “You heard us?” Sam said, his voice strained and quiet.

“You boys weren’t exactly quiet about it, that last day,” Bobby grunted.

”Ah,” Sam said, then after a pause added, “Sorry about that.”

“Quiet doing  _what_?” Ben demanded.

“I’ll tell you when you turn twenty one,” Bobby promised.


	3. Interlude Two / Interlude Three / Part Three / Epilogue

Interlude 2  
35 hours until midnight, May 2nd

  
“This is ridiculous, Sam.” Dean huffed, stretched, and pushed the piles of books away from him. “Bobby has more books than a menopausal woman has issues.”

“Yeah, and in one of these books might be the answer,” Sam said, his voice stubborn, squinting in the dim light as he scanned through another deep volume on demonic hell spawn.

“C’mon, Sam.” Dean pulled a face and concentrated on stretching his knuckles. “If we were gonna find something we would have found it out by now. Can’t we just… Y’know, kick back, have a little fun?”

“No. Fun is for 1am on May the third.” Sam scrunched his eyes up even more, and flicked the page, letting out a small disappointed sound.

“Yeah, but couldn’t we have been  _doing_  this somewhere more fun,” Dean’s voice was plaintive. “You  _know_  this is a distant shot. I know you’re in denial, but I’ve gotta face facts, Sammy. This could be last thirty five hours on the planet. And I’m pretty sure there’s gotta be stuff up here they don’t have down there.” Dean gestured vaguely at his feet.

“Dean, I don’t wanna hear this,” Sam said.

“Like burgers,” Dean said. “I’ve had the longest relationship of my life, barring my baby, with hamburgers. Does it sound right to you that I go for my last thirty five hours without burgers?”

“Spending your last thirty-five hours whining and eating, instead of trying to  _save_  your life. Yeah, that sounds pro-active,” Sam said.

“Ha, you agree it  _is_  my last thirty-five hours, then,” Dean said, triumphantly, leaning forwards and nudging Sam with his knee.

“No, I just-“ Sam sighed. “Dean, c’mon, there could be something really good in this tome…”

”The fact that you even  _call_  it a tome is disturbing proof that it won’t be useful,” Dean noted. “A little beer, is that too much for a dying man to request?”

“Bobby’s got some beer in his fridge.”

“Does he have a nice piece of ass in the fridge too? ‘cause some sex. I could do with some of that. But nooo, you want me to be sat here, Ready McReaderson until the end of my days. A librarian’s whipping boy. Mmm, being whipped by a librarian-“

“Dean, do you mind? I’m trying to read.”

“Aw, are my dying sexual wishes distracting you, college boy?”

“Yes.”

Dean huffed, and started rattling about in Bobby’s desk, pulling open drawers. “Bobby’s got to have some porn in here. I wonder what sixteenth century porn looks like.”

“Wood engravings,” Sam muttered.

“Wood. Oh, I bet ya.” Dean smirked. “Pudding. I’m gonna miss pudding.”

”Dean-“

“And pie.”

“Dean-“

“Eat lots of pie for me when I’m gone, Sammy. Although you’ll have to exercise more than I would, ‘cause you’re getting fat just sat there and reading.”

“I’m not fat.”

“Naw, just thick around the middle.”

” _Dean_ , you said yourself, you think this is your last thirty five hours. Now I think differently, but I’ve never been able to disabuse you of any notion, so do you really want to spend your so-called last hours bitching at me?”

“Bitching at you is one of my favorite hobbies,” Dean said, throwing a screwed piece of paper at Sam’s head. Sam just batted one of his hands at the place where the paper had hit, but he didn’t move his gaze from the book. “C’mon, young Jedi, aren’t you going to use your wiggly powers on me to get some revenge?”

“I don’t have Jedi powers,” Sam said, through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean said, whistling a little unmelodic tune that may have been an attempt at _stairway to heaven_  or maybe the theme to  _Deal or No Deal_. “Whatever you say, young padawan.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh, so you want me to spend my last hours in silence and reading. Well, I know that sounds like heaven to you, Miss. Love Hewitt, but I’ve got better things on my list I could be doing. Like bitching at you.”

“So wittily, I may add.”

“Like  _shut up_  is the epitome of wit,” Dean grouched. “I could be drinking.”

”Beer in the fridge-“ Sam said, his tone almost sing-song.

“Whiskey,” Dean said, his voice firm. “I could be drinking whiskey.”

Sam made a huffing noise.

”Or having sex.”

Sam shook his head slightly, but whether it was at a particularly uncooperative piece of text or at Dean, Dean wasn’t too sure.

“Or eating pie.”

“Dean-“

“Or having a ride in my baby. Both meanings, of course.”

“Dean, shut-“

“Or finding someone – or somewhere – with magic fingers.”

“Dean-“

“Or eating hamburgers. And pie.”

 _“Dean-“_

“And cake.”

 _“Dean.”_

“Or at least  _kissing_ ,” Dean said, plaintively. “I like kissing and I’m really good at it and I’m gonna miss _mmmppph_. Dude, what the hell?”

Sam’s eyes looked a little wild, and he was fidgeting with the book still in one hand, and his other hand still on Dean’s shoulder, from where he had yanked his brother closer. “Uh,” Sam said, licking his slightly swollen lips, “well, I just thought, well, we don’t exactly have time to go out and _find_  any of those things you wanted to do, and-“

“Sam,” Dean started, “it’s-“ Dean began to argue, but found he didn’t really have many reasons to fling at Sam.  _We shouldn’t_ , was probably the first, but his own brain found an answer to that. _Why_  shouldn’t they? Because kissing Sam had maybe been, well it could be, well it  _was_  really damn good. And it wasn’t like he wasn’t already  _going_  to hell…

By the time all of that had gone through Dean’s head, Sam was pulling back and looking small. Dean made a sound low in his throat, and grabbed at Sam’s shirt, and yanked his startled brother back towards him, and made a rather good attempt if he did say so himself of enthusiastically kissing Sam’s doubt away.

“Sam,” Dean said, his voice low, buried in Sam’s neck as it was, as Sam’s mouth did this little journey across his cheek that was  _damn_  hot and who on  _earth_  taught his brother that little move anyway, “I’m going to hell anyway. And you and I both know we’ve been dancing around this for _years_.” He punctuated the word  _years_  with a hand ghosting over Sam’s rear. Sam made a sound low in his throat that could have been horror or could have been arousal. Dean opted to hope it was the latter, and swiped his tongue across Sam’s throat. Sam made a sound that was  _definitely_ arousal.

“Might as well go for something worthwhile,” Dean said out loud. Sam pulled back a little, hair pleasingly mussed, face flushed, doubt still on his face. He looked like he was about to pull back and into himself. Dean knew his brother, and knew he would have to play dirty. He grinned, let his legs fall apart a bit, and pressed forwards to meet Sam’s less deniable evidence of arousal with his own.

Sam surged against him silently, clung onto him with one shoulder, and looked at Dean directly, his eyes darkened. “So,” Sam said slowly, “this kissing thing that you’re going to miss...”

Despite the approaching dread and tension of his own upcoming demise, Dean still found enough happiness to smile into Sam’s kisses.

\----

“Hmm,” Dean said afterwards, pleased.

“Hmm yourself,” Sam said, his voice warm and low. “You’ve had your fun. Back to the books.”

“Aw, Sam-“

“Nu-uh,” Sam said, but he didn’t sound too displeased. He was blushing like a tomato, actually. Dean knew his approaching death was really affecting him mentally, because he sort of thought it was quite hot, really, and maybe even cute. Dean shook himself inwardly and vowed never to voice that to Sam, because he would never hear the end of it. “You got the kissing you wanted.”

“And more,” Dean said, gloating.

Sam rolled his eyes, but couldn’t keep the frown on his face. “And more,” Sam amended, somehow managing to blush even more as he focussed on the text again. “So now you’ve got to read again. Saving your life and all that.”

“Aw,” Dean said, but picked up a book that looked promising, and had a spectacular woodcut of a hellhound on the front cover, and he flicked it open. “Saving my life is the only incentive I get to spend my last thirty four hours reading?”

“Oh,” Sam said, turning the page of his own book. “You want incentive to read? How about at one am on the third of May, you’re gonna fuck me so hard neither one of us will remember our own name. Is that incentive enough?”

Dean stopped pretending to read the introduction of the book and he stared at Sam. Sam had spoken lightly, as if suggesting a trip to the grocery store, or mentioning that the weather was quite nice today.

Dean blinked, and then looked at Sam, and grinned, and demanded, “How’m I supposed to concentre on reading after you say something like that? You’ve left me in a state that’s kinda distracting.” Dean gestured at aforementioned state. 

Sam rolled his eyes, and said, “Your libido is insane,” but even though he sounded mad, he still put his book down again.

 **Interlude 3** **  
_34 hours until midnight, May 2nd_   
**Dean** **

  
Dean Winchester had always believed in hell, even before he knew that was his likely final destination.

Sam’s tongue, warm and possessive and firm between his legs, was the first thing to convince him that maybe heaven existed, too.

  


 **Part 3** **  
**Ben** **

  
Ben couldn’t quite get used to eating out for  _every_  meal. Normally his mom took him out once a month, twice if he was super lucky. This was the sixth meal he’d had out. Sam said that he  _never_ got a home cooked meal. After four weeks of perpetually badly home cooked meals, Ben had thought he would  _never_  be sad for anyone who didn’t get home cooked food. But now he had to re-evaluate a lot of things.

He picked at his salad, which Sam had ordered him to eat on pain of a severe tickling. He didn’t see why Sam kept saying to Bobby, in a hushed undertone, that he was a bad parent, because it sounded quite parent-like to him. His mom was always saying stuff like that.

Bobby and Sam had been talking in the diner for about an hour now. The waitress who had liked Sam had overheard a little of the conversation, and had backed away. Ben noticed that the piece of cake that came for Sam was a little on the small side, whereas his piece was huge. He guessed the lady was mad at Sam. Ben thought it was odd. He would think it was  _cool_  if some girl was talking about demons. He wouldn’t be scared off. It was just yet another piece of proof that some girls were  _odd_.

Mind you, Bobby and Sam were talking, and it seemed real boring. Something about a  _colt._  Ben didn’t see how a horse could help them, unless maybe it was a unicorn. 

“How’s a horse gonna help us get Dean out of hell?” Ben demanded eventually, annoyed.

Sam and Bobby turned to him. Sam looked apologetic, like he’d forgotten Ben was there.

“It’s a gun,” Sam explained. “That can kill demons. Bobby’s managed to track it down, and I think we need it.”

“Where is it?” Ben sat up straighter, because Sam had said we. Sam had included Ben in whatever this plan was. 

“I know a man who can get it,” Bobby said, looking grim. “But it’s gonna cost a lot.”

“Oh,” Ben said, “I’ve got fifty dollars saved up at home in the bank. Would that help?”

Sam actually let out a little gasp of a sound that might have been laughter, but he covered it up with a cough, like he was embarrassed that he had found something funny. “Um. No. It’s okay,” Sam said. 

“There’s a guy I know about forty miles south of here that has something that can get something I need to trade for something to trade for the Colt,” Bobby explained, trying to be helpful.

“Something for the-“ Ben shook his head a little. “Boy, am I glad it’s you sorting that out and not me. So is there a demon you can hunt down to get Dean out of hell?”

“Not exactly,” Sam said, and his eyes for the first time since Ben had arrived seemed alive. “The gun is sort of also the key to hell.”

“Ah,” Ben said, impressed. “Now that’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, in an almost melodic rambling tone. “It’s definitely cool. It means we can open up the gate, unleash a thousand demons and hope Dean somehow manages to get out too. And then somehow get him back into his body. So, yeah, if that’s your definition of cool, then it is definitely cool.”

“ _Sam,_ ” Bobby said, like it was a warning.

“Hmm,” Ben said. It sounded like Sam was trying to make a joke of some kind, but he didn’t think it was that funny.

“Hmm?”

“Yeah,” Ben said. “If you can open the gate, can’t you close it again?”

Sam frowned at him. “Yes, but-“

“Ah, don’t  _but_  me this time,” Ben said, thinking about it. “We went on a trip to a farm last year. One of the kids got stuck in a field, so the teacher opened the gate to get her out, but the teacher left the gate open, and a ton of hens got out. But the same thing happened on the way out, and the farmer went in, closed the gate behind him, went and got the kid, and came back out. Only a couple of goats escaped that time.”

“Go  _into_  hell without being dead?” Sam breathed, his voice low and his eyes dark as he looked across at Bobby. “Can it be done?”

“Ain’t heard of it being done before,” Bobby said. “Then again, I don’t think there’s ever been anyone crazy enough to attempt it.”

“Until now,” Sam said.

\------

In the end, it was sort of anticlimactic.

They got the gun, by trading a bottle of whiskey for an autographed baseball, and then the baseball for a ratty old book that Sam insisted was called a tome, and then the ‘tome’ (ratty smelly old book) turned out to be entirely unnecessary, because Sam just ended up levitating the Colt out of the window and they just legged it back to the Impala.

Bobby researched Dean’s amulet, and discovered Sam could speed up the healing process. 

Sam did. Dean didn't wake up, though, which entranced Ben because, hey, turns out the preachers at the local church were right and souls were kinda important.

Ben wanted to go with Sam into hell. Sam wasn't a parent, was sure he would be a bad parent (or so he repeatedly told Bobby), but was sure parent-like when he told Ben he couldn't go into hell. Sam gave him the tome to play with while he went in. He compromised and let Ben watch from the car, as long as he was okay surrounded by a million talismans, graveyard dirt and a lot of salt. Ben was. The book was in a funny language but had interesting wood carvings printed in it of hell beasts. Ben spent so long staring at the horrible creatures that Dean was probably having to hide from that he didn't even notice the whole thing go down until the gates reopened and Bobby sprayed a hosepipe at them, and Sam stumbled through holding something in a stone jar.

A couple of sprays of smoke flew up into the clouds like feeble catherine wheels. Bobby cursed so loud Ben could even hear it through the car windows, so those faint tugs of smoke must be something really bad.

Ben tumbled out of the car when the gates sprang closed, and ran up to the fence of the graveyard, staring through in fascination as Bobby uncovered Dean's healed but comatose body, and Sam carefully, carefully tipped the contents of the jar into Dean's open mouth.

It was almost like he imagined it was going to be, Dean's body flooding with colour and him rising to a seating position with a choke, Sam flinging his arms around his brother and crying like a little girl.

Except, Ben hadn't imagined some of the weird light stuff that Sam had tipped into Dean's mouth zooming off elsewhere and into one of the nearest graves.

Ben couldn't see, but he figured that there was no amount of trouble he could get in that wasn't worth it, so he pushed his small body through the fence and crept closer.

A hand clawed out of the grave, and Sam lifted his shotgun to it. Sam looked like he'd bathed in coal dust. He kinda looked like Rambo. Dean, however, knocked Sam's hand to the side and scrambled up unsteadily, like that bit in Bambi where the baby dear stood for the first time. Bobby flung holy water over Dean, and Dean shot Bobby an annoyed look and walked more steadily over to the hand. He pulled at it and a bedraggled woman came up attached to the hand.

She was kind of pretty, beneath all the mud. Ben liked her already, even though Sam already didn't from the expression on his face.

“Dean-” Sam said, threateningly.

“I hate to say it,” Dean said in a very croaky voice, before coughing pointedly until Bobby handed him a bottle of water. Dean eyeballed the water as if it was poison, but drank it anyway. “Anyway. I hate to say it, but she kinda saved my life.”

The woman, beneath all the mud, smiled smugly and wrenched the bottle of water from Dean, chugging it down, her pretty green eyes locked on Sam suspiciously. It looked like the dislike was mutual.

“How?” Sam ground out. He sounded a bit mad and Ben didn't blame him, because in his opinion too, Sam saved Dean's life. With Bobby and Ben's help, naturally.

“Hell's time is really messed up,” the woman volunteered. “We were down there basically... half a century?”

Sam winced as Dean shrugged a little.

“This dude, Alistair, took a fancy to me,” Dean said, grumpily. “Kept wanting me to take a blade up and do to others what he was doing to me. But I resisted for... seemed like three decades or so.” Dean's tone was nonchalant, but his face looked like he was in pain, even though Ben knew his body was fully healed, so it must be some sort of emotional pain. Ben was starting to understand that sort of thing. “Anyhow,” Dean continued, “he wanted to know what the worst kind of torture would be. At first I said torturing someone else. But then he dragged me through to a chamber where  _she_  was tied up. Don't think I wasn't all kinds of tempted.” He leered at the woman. She flipped him the bird, leaning casually against her own gravestone. Ben edged closer. _Bela Talbot_. Bela. It was a pretty name. “So I reacted in horror and said, well, Alistair – here's my goddamned hell. THIS woman. If I had to spend ANY time in Hell, the worst thing I could think of was being stuck listening to her jabbering nonstop.”

Sam looked really confused.

“So he stuck me to her,” Dean said, flatly.

Sam winced.

“Sometimes literally,” Bela joined in.

Bobby winced at that one.

“But...” Dean sighed. “She kept me sane. We kept each other sane. I would have folded without her. So I promised if you came and found some foolhardy way to get me out, I'd do my best to get her out too.”

“And  _voila_ ,” Bela said, curtsying.

Sam's jaw tightened, as if he was having trouble breathing, and he looked at Bela and said, in the lowest slow tone Ben had ever heard, “Thank you.”

“You saved my life too,” Bela said, nodding her head at him. “I got me buried with a talisman, left those instructions for a hefty price, but you got me the rest of the way. So thank you.”

Sam shrugged awkwardly.

“Can we get food now?” Dean said, rather plaintively.

Sam laughed a little. “Sure,” he started, and turned, and saw Ben. He stopped.

Ben winced.

Dean's jaw dropped a little. Ben understood why. It probably wasn't the best sight for a hunter to see a little kid standing unprotected metres away from where the gates to hell had opened.

“Benjamin Robert Braeden,” Sam said in a very fast way.

Ben didn't know why Sam thought he would have parenting issues because that,  _that_  was spot on.

\-----

Back at the motel, Ben swung his legs while sat on the bed Dean had been lying in for so long, annoyed. The adults were all somehow crammed into the one tiny bathroom talking about him in low whispers, too low to even make out. The walls in the place were thin, so Ben presumed Sam must have been using his magic again.

They crowded out eventually. Dean came and clapped his shoulder and thanked him for his part in the venture. Ben looked at him, miserable, because he knew his mom had told Dean the truth.

“Ben,” Sam said, after a little while. “Can you show me your birth certificate again?”

Ben shook his head.

“Your mom left the name part blank, didn't she,” Dean prompted. 

Ben looked away.

Dean bent down next to him, and squeezed his shoulder, and stayed there until Ben looked at him.

“I'm sorry,” Ben said. “I didn't want to cause trouble. And even when I knew Sam wouldn't have time for it, I-” He sagged, and looked up at Sam. “I'm sorry. I  _wanted_  you guys to be my family.”

Sam nodded. “I think that's why I didn't look so closely at the certificate when you handed it to me, Ben. I wanted you as family too.”

Ben smiled bravely. “Have you called the hospital?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. They're releasing your mom in the morning. So you're going to stay with us while Bobby goes to pick her up.”

Ben remembered the semi-heard conversation with Sam and Bobby. He looked between the two. “I'm sorry for being such trouble. I know you weren't in the mood for it, but-”

“Sshhh,” Sam said, bending down next to Dean and taking Ben's hands in his very large now thankfully clean ones. “You can be trouble for me any time, you hear me?”

Ben nodded and manfully tried to pretend he wasn't about to cry.

Bobby gave him a punch in the shoulder to show his approval. “I've got to sort something out before tomorrow,” he said, tipped his hat to Ben and left after squeezing Dean a little harder than necessary. Ben noticed Sam and Bobby both had found careful little ways to touch Dean, on the shoulder, on the hand, on the face, nothing too extreme but little nudges as if to reassure themselves he was really there.

Dean and Sam got to their feet and they all watched Bobby leave, and fell silent.

The silence went on for a little while.

“Well, this is a  _what now_  moment,” Dean said, stretching again, and wincing as something cracked properly into place. He edged a heated look at Sam. “I do believe you promised me something.”

“Oh, aye,” Bela said, grinning toothily and nudging Ben with an exaggerated wink. 

Unfortunately, Sam blushed on command. Bela’s mouth dropped open slightly. “I was making a lewd insinuation as a  _joke_ ,” she said.

Dean grinned at her and groped Sam’s ass, almost like it was an afterthought.

“I didn’t think you’d want-“ Sam blurted, his voice quiet.

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam. “That’s ‘cause you’re an idiot. I told you thinking was overrated.”

Sam smiled at him, a little dazed.

“I’m a little disturbed, a little turned on, and frankly, that combination makes me think it’s time for me to leave,” Bela said, and turned to go, opening the door.

”Bela,” Sam said, turning to her, “when I was down in hell, I discovered something that’s kinda interesting. They’re  _really scared of me_. And it’s for a good reason. It turns out I’m pretty much a freaky antichrist.” He gestured, and the door slammed shut. He looked across at Ben and shared a grin, then glared at Bela. “I saved you, so your life belongs to me. And if you  _ever_  cross us like you did before, just remember, I can send you back into hell with just one gesture. Understand?”

Bela turned, smiling that wide  _I’ve already stolen half your stuff and I was hoping for a quick getaway_  smile. “My life is yours. Yup. Got it. And what would my, uh, lord and master require today?”

Sam looked at Dean with a look that Dean could only describe as full of promise and said, “What kind of a babysitter are you, Bela?”

“I’m not a baby,” Ben said crossly.

“I’m a fabulous babysitter,” Bela said. “And fabulously cheap, ooh, forty dollars for half an hour-“ 

Without looking at her, Sam made a small gesture, and one of the pillows from the bed flew across and hit her in the face, exploding feathers everywhere.

”Fabulously free,” Bela said, dusting herself down and stepping out of the pile of feathers. “Yep.”

”Good,” Sam said, his voice full of heat. “’cause I’ve got unfinished business.” He yanked Dean closer. Dean swallowed, and licked his lips, his mouth suddenly very dry.

“I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t want to, well, y’know,” Dean said. “C’mon man, it’s me.” He grinned at Sam.

“Well,” Sam said, shuffling his feet a little, “it’s a well documented fact that people do some crazy things when they think they’re about to die.”

“Sam,” Dean said impatiently, “document  _this_.”

Bela, bless her dark little heart, thankfully had the presence of mind to start to yank Ben from the room then, before he saw something that would put him into therapy for life. Dean was almost willing to break away from eagerly trying to prove his point to Sam to wonder whether they’d brought the right soul back for Bela’s body, until she remarked on the way out, “Some friends of mine could give us a royal sum and a half if you’re willing to do that on camera. Homosexual incest is  _so_ -” 

Thankfully even Bela reacted like a normal person would when Dean threw his hunting knife at her head. 

“So, should I-“ Bela swallowed audibly after ducking and turned around, yanking Ben with her at the same time. “Right, so you’re going to start right now while we’re still here. Ben, come on, let’s go next door and watch TV.”

Ben only had time for a startled yelp as Bela shepherded him the hell out of there.

\----

“No,” Ben said, ten minutes later as Bela hunted for the remote to turn the sound up, “I don’t think Sam’s realised yet how un-soundproof the walls are.”

\----

The next morning, Ben calmly ate plastic scrambled eggs (well, they had the consistency of plastic but tasted like milk, so Ben supposed it was edible plastic) and tried valiantly to pretend that he was enjoying it, and that he wasn't going home.

Except, that wasn't so much of a bad thing. He and Bela watched Hitchcock movies all night (very loudly) and when  _Psycho_  came on, first Ben twitched at the " _first customer of the day is trouble_ " bit, and then someone said, ‘ _A boy’s best friend is his mother_ ’ and Ben spent the rest of that movie and  _Rear Window_ trying not to cry. He wanted to watch  _The Birds_  but Bela went a bit odd and murmured something about Tengu demons and so they watched  _North By Northwest_  instead and Bela told him an anecdote about talking to Cary Grant on a Ouija board.

Ben fell asleep after unsuccessfully trying to persuade her to let him use her Ouija board one day.

So Ben was, really, missing his mother, and missing his mother was pretty much the crux of the whole thing, so he couldn't be too sad Bobby was on his way to the diner with her in tow.

The waitresses obviously thought Bela was his mom, so they were shooting Sam dirty looks for shooting  _Bela_  dirty looks, and they gave Dean extra pie because everyone gave Dean extra pie, and time went completely too fast, and Ben almost wanted to stay, but then his mom walked through the door and he just ran to her without thinking, burying his head in her chest and crying and confusing the hell out of the serving staff.

“Never ever do this to me again,” Lisa said.

“I won't, I promise,” Ben said, and somehow everything was okay. Bobby had blackmailed the doctors into letting her go early, and put her on some kind of medicine called prozac which somehow made everything better, so Ben was sore at the doctors for not realising she was ill earlier, because she had to have been ill she had medicine now. “I had a good time,” Ben said. 

“Good,” Lisa said. “I can't thank you enough for this,” she added to Sam. “I'm sorry for the trouble.”

“No trouble,” Dean said, chirpily. Sam glanced at Ben's mom dubiously for a moment, until Dean whispered something in Sam's ear, and Sam went a bit pink, and Ben crossed his fingers because if they started making out again, the waitresses were  _really_  going to be confused.

Ben said, “Dean, Sam, Bobby and Bela have been looking after me fantastically”, and his mom started to thank them all individually, except when she came to Bela she went really pale, and said in a shaky voice, “Abigail?”

Bela said, in a hilarious voice, “Lise?”

The two of them sort of flung themselves at each other, and Ben was all ready to step in as he was the man of the family, and even though he adored Bela to pieces now, if she was going to hurt his mom he would slap her-- Except, no, it wasn't Dean and Sam that Ben should have worried about starting to make out in the diner.

Ben pulled a face and looked around to gauge Dean, Sam and Bobby's reactions, because they would forever be his role models, but really, what were you supposed to do in this situation. There was no one he disliked enough to be violent to, and one of the waitresses had fainted, so he couldn't go fetch some tea for anyone. Bobby was smirking, Sam looked shell-shocked and Dean had pulled his phone out of his pocket to take pictures.

Ben mentally added _taking pictures_  to his list of  _What Would Dean Winchester do?_  and settled down into his seat. He thought he would be leaving everything behind, but he had his mom back and maybe now Bela would come and live with them.

Life was weird, but it was good.

“Ben,” Lisa said eventually, holding Bela's hands in a daze, because apparently they used to go to the same school until Bela magically disappeared, a “you're completely grounded for the rest of your life.”

“I figured,” Ben said.

Lisa dropped down and gave him a hug. “I just... went a little mad, honey. We all go a little mad sometimes.”

Ben squinted at her. “Sometimes just one time can be enough?” he semi-quoted as a question.

“Yeah,” Lisa agreed. “Yeah.” She stood and put her hand out for his. “Home?” She said, like a question.

Ben smiled, because really, stood there, with Dean and Sam flirting outrageously with each other, the manager striding over to ask them to leave, Bobby leering at Bela, and his mom  _there_ , not crying, he was kinda already there.

Epilogue

  

  * Ben was grounded until he was 18. He didn't mind. He stayed home and watched all of Hitchcock's oeuvre, then went on to Kubrick, then Romero, and then went to film school to make realistic horror films. He became the new zombie flick maker on the block and won tons of awards. Dean went to all of his premieres. Sam didn't, because Dean liked a certain kind of attention while in the dark of a cinema and Sam thought he had petted Dean enough in front of Ben already.
  

  * Bela – Abigail – came with Lisa and Ben and set up a rare antiques shop in their spare time. She sold pretty things in front and arcane books in the back, and Ben made enough money for film school by selling the tome that Bobby forgot to ask for back. Lisa and Bela became so rich Lisa started working in the shop and saved her supreme flexibility for Bela.
  

  * Sam and Dean accidentally nearly started the apocalypse, because apparently Dean arguing with Bela was enough to break something called a first seal, but they met this angel called Castiel and some other rogue angels thought they could join with a demon girl named Ruby to convince Sam to drink demon blood and let Lucifer free to walk the earth, but Dean and Sam were too busy having wild monkey sex to even notice Lillith throwing herself at them every other day. One morning Lillith pretend to accidentally trip and land on Dean's dinner knife, so he trapped her in a coffin under the earth for a while, because no one interrupts him when he's eating pie. Except for Sam, and he has a unique form of compensation to deliver to apologise for the interruption.
  



 


End file.
